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The Border
When you cross that mile stretch
of brown sterile earth
lifeless save for yucca and anorexic dogs
when you mind flips between visions
of Mayan mystical gurus
that might heal your sickest seeds
and the desolation that shifts under your feet
the desolation of everything you left behind
between photographs of the death squad disappeared
black bars over cigarette burnt eyes
and eternal volcanic cones
reaching towards a point of pureness
that doesn't seem to exist below
and each step brings you further
from what you thought was you
and closer to what you thought wasn't
you passport clutched
like a life vest to your chest
your shots, visas, travelers checks and dreams
don't prepare you
for confronting the emptiness you feel
as you approach the hill
towards the border
Mexican blues becoming Guatemalan vapor
the dirt covers your shoes
your shoes are your heart
you clutch your travelers checks
it doesn't seem to help
The next open door
An amplifier strapped to his back
he belts out blind songs of desire
in the subway for pennies.
His change cup held forward,
He waltzes down the crowded aisle smiling,
Lips parted, his hands raised with the microphone
Like excommunicated lounge act priest.
**
Selling candy for a peso is a rough way to go,
no one buying on car after car.
Awake at five to ride by six until midnight.
Why not grab a knife
and do things right?
But he belts his jingle in rhyming hawker song
the locals and tourists look away, stare at their feet.
He leaves downtrodden, dead for some seconds,
Rejuvenated as he walks though the next open door
to live small dreams that quickly fade.
Rich Furman is a professor in the Department of Social Work at Colorado State University, and has had numerous poems published in literary journals
throughout the years. As far as other relevant biographical information, in case you are curious, he enjoys contemplating the meaning of his navel,
lives with two terrifying looking yet sweet American Bulldogs, a sweet looking and sometimes terrifying fiancé, and two kids who are as terrifying
as banana slugs to a rhinoceros. He has traveled and lived in Central America, and tries to get back as often as he can. He loves to read poetry
from the small press, poetry that is real, alive, hits you in the gums and gets out. He loves to receive feedback on his work, if you are so inclined.
Rich Furman, Assistant Professor, Department of Social Work, Colorado State University.
Email: Rich Furman
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